


The Valley of Stolen Gods

by dreamingfifi



Series: Oroboros [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Ancient History, Child logic, Childhood, Deaf Character, Fantasy, Gen, Immortality, Pantheon - Freeform, Polytheism, Shamanism, Sign Language, Slice of Life, Supernatural Elements, Witchcraft, Witches, pre-history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10072151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingfifi/pseuds/dreamingfifi
Summary: See that mountain there?A powerful witch lives there.She stops death there.Her valley is fruitful there.Her people never die there.All you need is to get there,With a token of your God there,Learn handspeech and live there.Forever.





	1. The King

I always could see gods. They are shadows, vague shapes, but sometimes they’ll take the form of something from my memory. If they are dangerous, they’ll take the shape of something that frightens me. If they benevolent, they’ll take the shape of something that comforts me. They each have their own personalities too… some are mischievous, some are shy, some love attention and being doted on. They like to live in statues and shrines. Others care little about humans. They have important jobs to do, like moving clouds and making goats mate.

I was eight years old when I realized I was seeing gods. I was traveling with my family, taking fresh wool from the herders on the mountain, to the River City. We stopped to pay homage to the local gods, as one must do when traveling through their territory, (if you don’t, they might become vengeful) and I saw a man who looked like a king that I’d seen a glimpse of being carried by a dozen slaves. He wore bangles and fine skins, and jewels were everywhere on him – even strung on wires that ran through his skin. When he saw us coming to pay homage to the great statue, he became very excited, and started kissing the dying flowers in the offering bowl. To our amazement, the flowers came back to life and blossomed anew. My grandmother, who also is our shaman, told my father that this was a good omen. This god would protect us through its land. We gave it offerings of dyed wool.

I thought differently.  Hadn’t they seen the king-magician kissing the flowers? While they told me there was no such man, and that the king I spoke of was far, far away from us, he stepped between us to stare at me. Instead of hunching over to get a better look, he simply shrunk to my height.

“I look like a king to you?” he asked.

I nodded. My grandmother took it as a sign that I’d been corrected, and they went about getting the great ox to move again.

He puffed out his chest and grinned wide. “Most people see only my house,” he said, pointing at the statue.

I looked at my parents, who were busy snapping at slaves. They still didn’t notice him.

“It’s solid wood,” I whispered, turning away so they couldn’t see me talking. “There’s no space for someone to live.”

“I don’t need space,” he said. Then he slipped into the statue, and out of sight. I could still feel his presence though. “I am Nagoy, the Road Guardian!” he shouted in his most mighty voice. “I give flowers their perfume!”

“How does that help guard the road?”

“It doesn’t,” he popped his head out of the statue, “but it’s fun.”

“Does this mean that you are the god of the road then?” I asked.

“Of course I am! I live in the statue, don’t I?”

“My family is traveling through your land, will you take care of us?”

He paused a moment, and chewed on his lips. “I might miss more offerings. And my home is here, not the entire road.”

“What if I gave you a new home?” I scurried over to the cart with the bag full of woolen dolls from the mountains, and pulled out a doll with wool jewelry stitched into it. “It looks like you.”

His eyes widened with glee. “You’ll carry me with you? Will you show me lots of flowers?”

“We travel everywhere. My mom says that we have traveled to every place with a name in the world!”

With that, he left his wooden statue and jumped into my doll. “I am Nagoy the Caravan Guardian!” he shouted in his mighty voice. “I give the flowers of all of the named places their perfume!”

Never had we had a sweeter smelling journey.


	2. The Adder

Losing my hearing was the second most frightening experience of my life.

That day, I found a little god living in a shiny brass pot. We were taking a load of them from Ká-mà (I always loved the sound of this city’s name. Each word has a note in their language. To say the name, your voice rises when saying “Ká”, and in “mà”, it starts at a higher pitch, then slides down.) to Sun City.  It was shaped like an adder, coiled up and asleep. I picked up the pot, to get a better look at it, but then… then…

It wasn’t the pain that was so bad for me. The noise, the bright flash of light, they just happened, and I didn’t understand in those moments their meaning. I lay on the ground, my hands burnt but unable to feel it, unable to move, but my eyes open and seeing.

It was their faces. Their eyes were wide or weeping or both. Their hands clutched at their mouths, at their belovéd’s shoulders, or wrung themselves into bruises. Their legs ran, trembled, collapsed, but never approached. Their jaws hung open, clenched shut, or flapped, all noiselessly.

I knew then that something was horribly wrong. My mother and father didn’t dare come near. My grandmother held them back when their parental instincts drove them to me. They never held me or ate in my presence again. After a few minutes I had enough feeling in my limbs to stagger to my feet, but everyone fled when I tried to approach. Only my grandmother came near, but when she did, she drew a circle in the mud around me, and didn’t let me leave it. She treated my wounds. Star-root and spider silk to stop the bleeding. Thorn-flesh for the burns. I could see that she was talking to me. I smelled her breath, saw her chest move, coordinating with her gummy mouth.

Finally I interrupted her, and said, “I’m sorry Este-gramma, I can’t hear you.”

Outside the circle, people had gathered, and they reacted to my voice, even though I couldn’t hear it. Something was wrong with my ears. I tried to reach up and touch them, but my hand was bandaged, and I couldn’t feel through the cloth. My grandmother’s lips pressed into a thin line. She stopped cleaning my other hand and started using the merchants’ handspeech. It’s difficult to say much with any nuance in it, and it lacks many words, but it’s used by all merchants and traders in all of the named lands.

“Bad-anger-action was done to you,” she said with her hands. “The sky bit you.”

Then, it all made sense. Lightning strikes when someone has a grudge – a deep hatred. I’d been cursed, and my hearing taken away by a very powerful resentment. That is why no one would come close, except my grandmother, who was powerful and protected by good fortune.

When my injuries were treated, my gramma helped me into a wagon. The driver got out and led the horse on foot, and I slept the rest of the day. When I awoke, I found my belongings bundled together, lying at my head as though I was a corpse. Nagoy’s home was in the bundle, so I took it out and held it to my chest. That must have woken up Nagoy, because he came out and wrapped his bangled arms around me. He rubbed my hands, urging them to heal faster, but suddenly he stopped, and flinched away.

“Shoo!” he hissed. “You hurt her, so you don’t get to stay.” In that moment, his shape changed, becoming my grandmother when she’s angry.

Little sparks flicked out at Nagoy, like a serpent’s tongue. The little adder-god raised its coppery head out of the burns on my hands. “I was sleeping!” it snapped back.

“Well, you can’t stay,” Nagoy huffed. “You might burn her again. Creatures are fragile. Go back to your metals!”

Another flicker of light sprang from its mouth. “The creature is wearing metal.”

“Excuse me,” I said, in what I hoped was a quiet voice.

They both turned to look at me. “It can feel us?” the adder asked, lightening shimmering down its body.

“Yes, I hear you.” I raised my hands, bringing the copper-colored adder close to my face. “Why did you hurt me?”

“I didn’t mean to!” it sizzled, coiling itself securely in my copper bangle. “I was startled. Lightening must have seen that I was scared, and answered me.” It changed shape, resembling one of the caravan’s dogs after being scolded. It tucked its tail and lowered its head. “Creatures burn so easily. I’m young to the surface world. I was living deep in the ground in rivers of metal. Then creatures dug me up, and I’ve been confused.”

I nodded slowly. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Boagi. I’m Boagi of the metal rivers.”

I considered it for a moment. Boagi was very dangerous, but not malicious. It might be useful as a protector-god. Nagoy made the caravan thrive – more children had been born to my family than all of the years before – but Nagoy couldn’t protect us. “Well, Boagi,” I said, putting a bright smile on my face. “You can stay if you don’t call lightening anymore, and if you follow my instructions carefully. I’ll let you stay in my copper bangle.”

“My first shrine?” Boagi erupted into a flaming dragon, racing up and down my arm, making the skin tingle. Finally he perched on the tips of my fingers and bellowed, “I am Boagi of the bangle! I call lightning and sleep in copper!”

Nagoy huffed, then turned back into his regal king-shape. “Don’t forget,” Nagoy said, “I’m her first god.” He stuck up his nose.

“Of course you are,” I said, beckoning him back to my side. “Boagi is young, and needs to learn how to be a god. You’ll teach him, won’t you Nagoy?”

Nagoy jumped back into his home, a pleased grin on his face. With the hierarchy in place, Nagoy wouldn’t get jealous. An upset Nagoy is a bad thing. The ground he’d been standing on used to have soft moss, but it had rotted, and become a putrid pool. Nagoy gives the flowers their perfume, but he also gives rot its stench.


End file.
